


Morraine

by enemyfrigate



Series: Waypoints [5]
Category: Justified
Genre: Barbecue, Closeted Character, Developing Relationship, Frottage, Fuckbuddies, Internalized Homophobia, Loneliness, M/M, Morning After, Raylan being supportive, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:18:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three days later, neither Raylan nor Tim has said an actual word about blow jobs and motel rooms, or even bourbon in a dive bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morraine

**Author's Note:**

> Morraine
> 
> 1.a ridge, mound, or irregular mass of unstratified glacial drift, chiefly boulders, gravel, sand, and clay.  
> 2\. a deposit of such material left on the ground by a glacier.

Raylan wakes up loose and relaxed. He fumbles at the sheets at his right, but comes up empty. That’s right, last night was Tim – not Ava, who always stays. Staying had never even crossed Tim’s mind, Raylan is sure.

He stretches and sits up, sheet and coverlet slipping down to his waist, trying to shake off his disgruntlement with the motions of getting up and getting ready for the day.  

Raylan likes company in his bed, before and after sex, not just during, no matter how casual the encounter.Somehow, his empty bed bothers him more, since he knows Tim. Raylan suspects he’s already more attached than he wants to admit, like there’s some kind of connection between them. Mind, finding out that one of his Miami hook-ups is a fellow Marshal is a pretty unusual coincidence.

Whining about it doesn’t get work done, though, so Raylan heads for the shower. He scrubs down fast under the lukewarm spray, wondering what he can say to get Tim back in his bed. But Tim hadn’t even wanted to get a beer after their encounter in Miami. He obviously doesn’t do affairs or relationships. Maybe Raylan can introduce him to the idea of fuckbuddies, through hands-on demonstrations, naturally.

And next time, he’ll ask Tim to stay.  

He scrubs water off his skin with the motel’s rough towels, and pulls on his last clean pair of boxers, brain working at the problem. He might could wait for Tim to bring it up. He knows how to play it cool. He hates waiting, but hell, the laundry has to get done sometime. He can always spend the next few evenings rousting Boyd Crowder down in Harlan.

Or maybe not.

Through some kind of luck, Raylan only hits one red light on the way to Tim’s place, so he’s a few minutes early. Instead of idling in the street ‘til Tim emerges, right on time, Raylan parks on the street and goes to the door of the non-descript townhouse. It has the underloved look of most rental properties, but Tim doesn’t seem to care much for luxuries. Raylan’s never been inside, and he’s curious all of a sudden. Plus, he can use the next few minutes, where they aren’t working, to see which way the wind is blowing, in terms of his sex life.

Tim opens the door to the townhouse bare chested. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Raylan says, thumbs hooked in his front pockets. He admires Tim, tattoo and strong chest and arm muscles, and lets Tim see him looking.

“Spilled coffee,” Tim says. “Come in for a minute. There’s coffee in the kitchen, if you want.”

Raylan thinks he might be blushing a little. It’s hard to tell in the dimness of the narrow foyer.

He follows behind Tim, and morning light from a living room window confirms his suspicion: Tim is definitely flushed, cheeks and ears.

Raylan thinks about following Tim upstairs. He’s not getting the stare down, or a blank look; in fact, he detects Deputy Marshal Deadpan’s version of a smile. Really, it’s just a sort of quirk at the corner of his mouth, but Raylan’s seen it before. Mostly when talking about particularly stupid criminals.

They can’t afford the delay, though, if they’re going to get in place to watch for their fugitive.

Instead, Raylan turns away from Tim and looks around himself to cover his interest.  Raylan’s not sure what he’d been expecting from Tim’s dwelling, but ‘neat frathouse’ is not quite it. Empty liquor bottles, ranging from the cheapest vodka to limited edition bourbon, parade across the mantle. The tidy bookcases by the massive TV house a vast number of DVDs: all action, stupid comedy, and animation. Raylan can’t identify the three different game systems stacked up, but there are lots of war themed games on the alphabetically sorted shelves.

The kitchen is practically empty, except for a rickety looking table. The room isn’t so much clean as bare. Raylan grabs the two battered _U.S. Army_ labeled travel mugs from the scratched Formica counter. He hears Tim on the stairs and turns back to the living room.

“You want a tour of my stately Gotham mansion, or can we get to work?” Tim has covered himself up with another undershirt and a regular shirt over that.  

“I think I’ve seen what I need to see,” Raylan says.

Tim follows him out the front door and locks it behind them. “Don’t judge me. I have roommates.”

 

 

 

Three days later, neither Raylan nor Tim has said an actual word about blow jobs and motel rooms, or even bourbon in a dive bar. Raylan suspects Tim would spook and shut him down if he brought it up in anything like public. He figures the surveillance van they are both currently entombed in counts as public in Tim’s head. Anything work related probably does. Art could check on them at any minute, too.

So Raylan keeps his mouth shut and tries to figure out some way to get with Tim outside of work. The last few days he’s been able to distract himself, most of the time, but thoughts - memories - creep in around the edges. Spending all this time in the van together doesn’t help. With nothing happening, he’s got too much time to think, too many opportunities to brush arms, to many silences to fill. It would be so easy to say, _hey, about the other night…._

Right now, it’s his turn to watch the screens; they switch off every twenty minutes or so. On the monitors, a man emerges from an alley and walks up to the shabby door they’re watching. "Got movement. Is that him?"

Tim looks up from his phone. He’s spent more time with the file than Raylan. "Too tall."

Shit." Raylan is about done with this case.  

They're coming close to running out of things to talk about, too, and they're both pretty good at that kind of thing. So far, in the few months Raylan has been back in Kentucky, he and Tim have pretty much covered all the surface stuff, and they’re inching close to deep, middle of the night topics that he for one just cannot talk about in a surveillance van in the middle of the day.

Raylan figures if he doesn’t break out the emergency questions, he’s going to have to take a walk to keep from jumping Tim out of pure boredom. "Dream vacation?"

Right away, Tim says, "Hunting velociraptors in Jurassic Park."

“Seriously?” Raylan shouldn’t find that kind of cute. "Aren’t velociraptors an endangered species?"

"An artificially revived endangered species. They can make more." Tim swishes the cold coffee in his travel mug. "Also probably illegal. And invasive."

"A whole island full of live dinosaurs and you want to kill some?"

"I don’t think they’d let me ride the T. Rex instead. Anyway, I might not win. Raptors’re smart like people." Tim drinks coffee and makes a face.

Raylan gets that. Why hunt an animal when you’re used to hunting men? _"_ You are one weird dude."

"Yep. What about you?"

"Vacation? Well, let's see. I did the whole tropical island beach vacation thing on my honeymoon with Winona. That was good but I mostly remember a lot of sex, overpriced alcohol, and sand in my shorts no matter how often we showered."

"I'm sure Winona helped with that."

"Shut up." Raylan rubs his jaw. "Anyway. Something I can't do around here, I guess. Maybe snowboarding or skiing."

"Never been skiing. Went snowboarding with the guys once, but mostly we fell on our asses a lot and then got drunk."

That sounds more like his day to day than Raylan would want on his time off. "I wouldn't mind going somewhere with really good beer. Germany or Ireland or something. Drink some brews, see a few sites."

"Germany's not bad. Had leave there a couple times.Great beer, great bar food. I had these awesome pork sandwiches at a festival in Hannover." Tim rummages in his jacket pocket and comes up with two tangerines. He holds one out to Raylan.

“Or maybe Africa.” Raylan digs into the tangerine.

Tim nods. Maybe Africa.

The van starts to smell like citrus over the ingrained scent of stale coffee and fast food grease in the upholstery. Almost anything would be an improvement, at this point.

“You want to get some food later?” Raylan dumps the tangerine peels in the cupholder stuck to the video console and rubs his hands on a crumpled Burger King napkin.

Tim licks his lips, a quick flicker. “Could go for some barbecue.”

Dinner is at a little hole in the wall that looks like a cheap cafeteria but is always crowded, because the barbecue is just that good. They’ve been there before, and it’s brightly lit and kind of loud, and you clean up your own table. They order at the counter and pay for their own meals. They’d taken separate cars even though they’d been coming from the same place. They talk about work. They don’t flirt. The whole meal is absolutely nothing like a date. Raylan has a good time anyway.

When Tim sucks barbecue sauce from his fingers, Raylan watches his mouth. He likes that mouth a hell of a lot. He also kind of wants to ruffle Tim’s hair, because he looks about 12, for a minute.

“Want some fries? She gave me extra.” Tim pushes his tray towards Raylan, who takes a handful.

Raylan waits until the parking lot to ask, when there’s no one nearby: “You want to fool around?”

“Sure,” Tim says, easy.

“Your place is closer.” Raylan shakes his key ring out and finds the Lincoln’s.

“I got roommates,” Tim says, like that settles it.

“Didn’t you say the one guy’s working tonight and the other stays with his girlfriend most of the time?” Raylan adjusts his hat and drops his shoulders. He looks away, then back.

Tim turns to his truck. Raylan actually sees his chest expand as he takes a deep breath. Then, he says, “If we go to my place we’ll hit traffic from the UK basketball game.”

Well, damn. That’s true. Better to give in gracefully, then. Might earn him some points. “My place it is. Meet you there.”

There’s a pause before Tim answers, like maybe he’s got cold feet. “Okay.”

On the drive back to the motel, Raylan watches Tim’s headlights in the rearview mirror, feeling like he’s done something wrong. If Tim just peels off and heads home he won’t be surprised.

Raylan lets himself in and throws yesterday’s boxers into the closet. He switches off the overhead light in favor of the bedside lamps. His current bottle of bourbon and two glasses go on the table, in case he needs to smooth things over. A light tap at the door announces Tim, and Raylan lets him in.

“I don’t know how to do this.”  Tim takes the bourbon Raylan hands him.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” Raylan sips at his own glass. “No one does. Everyone’s just making it up.”

“Please don’t try to reassure me.” Tim places his empty glass on the table. “Should I take my shoes off or do you want to just blow me against the door?”

Raylan chokes on bourbon. “Well, okay, son, make yourself comfortable.”

And that’s a Tim Gutterson smirk, right there; he perches on a chair and yanks the knots out of his bootlaces. Raylan gets with it and starts unbuttoning.

With everything but his shorts tossed onto the chair, Tim crosses his arms over his chest. “You need a little help over there?”

The boots should have come off first; that was a mistake. “I’m sorry, is this a race? Is there going to be a prize?”

“Yep. And if you don’t hurry up, I’m going to get my own prize.”

Raylan has to sit on the edge of the bed to drag his boots off and shove his jeans off. “Now, that would be just selfish.”

As Raylan sits up, Tim pulls Raylan’s undershirt over his head, When Raylan’s face emerges from white cotton, he’s confronted with Tim, half hard in his boxers, a few inches away. His cock is hot and thick under Raylan’s palm, getting harder and thicker by the second. Tim shoves the boxers down and steps out of them.

Raylan sprawls back and gropes at Tim’s hip. “Come on.”

“Hang on. Get these off.”

Raylan wriggles out of his underwear and Tim crawls onto the bed, over him, to kiss him, open mouthed and forceful. They shift and move together on the bed, close in a way Raylan has missed, awkward and smooth by turns, until they fall into a configuration and a rhythm that wrings gasps out of them both.  Tim sprawls over Raylan, his thigh between Raylan’s legs, Raylan’s hands on his ass, as they move against each other and trade sloppy kisses.

Tim comes with a quiet _fuck,_ pushing his face into Raylan’s neck. Soon after, Raylan follows him with a sharp _ah!_

“Mmmmph.” With his mouth full of Tim’s hair, Raylan can only make vague, pleased noises. He’d move his head, but Tim is heavy, and Raylan has no control over his muscles right now anyway.

“Mmmmm?”

Raylan finds the energy to pat at some part of Tim, which turns out to involve ribs.

“That good for you?”

“Not bad. You know, sort of okay.” Tim’s voice trails off, and he slides a little to the side, limp, giving Raylan just a shade more space. His breathing settles down to slow and steady, close to sleep. Cars go by on the interstate. The pipes clank.  

Raylan starts to drift, himself.  

Some time before he’s really asleep, Tim stirs, and pushes off Raylan and the bed. Water runs in the bathroom. He brings back a warm washcloth and drops it on Raylan’s belly. When Raylan makes no move to use it, Tim sighs and wipes their drying come off his belly and soft dick. He pulls on his boxers and goes over to the chair with  his clothes. His cell phone screen lights up and throws Tim’s face into relief.

“You want to stay over?” Raylan is very happy with this bed. No need to move ever again.

Tim frowns at the phone, then clicks it off and shoves it back into the jacket he left on the table. “Not tonight.”

Somehow, the mood has changed. Raylan levers himself upright and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, facing Tim, who’s doing up his belt.

“Offers open,” Raylan says. “Any time.”

“You want to keep fooling around?”  Tim pulls on his shirt, grabs and his boots, and sits down on the corner of the bed. He leans over to tie his boots. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to do this again.”

Fuck, he sounds so young. He should have known Tim would need something other than radio silence. Sure, the kid’s got plenty of experience getting down and dirty with a guy’s dick, but in terms of even the most casual sexual relationship, he’s got nothing.  Raylan reaches over and ruffles his hair.

Tim smacks Raylan’s hand away.

“Wasn’t sure you wanted to take the chance,” Raylan says.

Tim straightens up. “I’m okay with it. but we need to keep it like this.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. It’s the sort of command voice that Raylan can’t maintain without looming, or the threat of physical violence, maybe gunplay.

“Like this how? I mean,” Raylan says, fast, before Tim walls him off, “no one else knows, and it’s just fucking? Like that?”

Tim licks his lips, a fast flicker. If he had it in him, Raylan would start to get hard again.

“I’m never going to fool around at work. Or in work vehicles.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I don’t mind getting food, or a drink, but like its just guys having a beer after work.”

“I’d rather have a bed available, myself,” Raylan says. He takes a chance, and reaches out to scratch Tim’s back between his shoulder blades. “And be able to take our time, if we want.”

“Okay,” Tim says.

Well, that wasn’t a whole hearted endorsement. “Taking your time can be a lot of fun,” Raylan says.

“I wouldn’t know.” Tim stands and reaches for his jacket.

“Tim. Hey. Are you okay with this? You don’t seem too happy. I thought we were having a good time.”

“No, it’s… Mark walked out of rehab yesterday. Seemed like it was going okay, you know, said he was committed, but. Felt like things were going well for a few days, then it got shit on. I don’t even know where he is.”

“That’s rough. You want me to help you look for him?”

Tim shakes his head. “I exhausted all my contacts. He’ll show up when he shows up. Anyway. I got to head out.”

Raylan finds his feet, grabs Tim’s shirt, and reels him in for a goodbye kiss.

“We’ll try taking it slow next time,” Tim says, softened back to his post orgasm relaxation, and then he shakes free of Raylan, and lets himself out.

 

 

 

Art pulls the surveillance the next morning. He sends Tim off with a file on some ex-Army asshole, and sticks Raylan in a room with another asshole, this time on the law enforcement side, to talk about the drug trade in Rural Appalachia. That’s what they guy calls it, Rural Appalachia, like the title on a spiral bound report. You can hear the capital letters when he talks. Raylan suspects this is Art’s idea of a joke.

He never discovers which agency the Rural Appalachia guy is from.

The office is deserted, when he emerges from the conference room, except for a few support staff. Even Art is out. Raylan kills time: answers some e-mail, cleans up his desk, scans some paperwork for typos. Right at 5 p.m., he puts on his hat and heads out.  He’s not going to wait for Tim. That’s not what they do, and he wants to make sure he follows the rules they set. If he doesn’t pay attention to that kind of thing, it’ll get away from him, and Tim will notice.

 

 

That night, Raylan doesn’t sleep right. Bourbon doesn’t help. Jerking off doesn’t help.

Truth is, Raylan likes company. He’s never been one for a solitary life. Ava’s overnight stays were never the imposition they might seem to an outsider.

Ah, maybe he should follow Tim’s lead, and find some place with roommates.

Tim himself would be ideal. Sex on tap, separate beds when they want. Raylan wonders what that conversation would be like. Mind you, Tim’s already got a place to live, but it’s not like it’s a home. Not like the guys he shares with are buddies. He probably barely sees them.

Raylan shakes his head and shoves off the bed. He walks over to the window in his shorts, and stares at the lights on the interstate. He’d just about talked himself into some domestic fantasy, friendly sex and shared pizza and the freedom to fuck around if he wants.

But that’s a fantasy, and Raylan is a grown man.

The whole thing would go wrong in the end, and Raylan’s not going to do that to himself, or Tim.

Besides, Rayan ain’t staying in Kentucky.

 


End file.
